I awoke this morning from a vivid dream in which I'd been playing with my dog. In reality, she died while I was away at college as an undergraduate. It was nice to spend time with her this morning, but I really missed her when I woke up. I rummaged through some old photos this afternoon, and they brought back memories of my dog and the house I grew up in. That house also went away when I was an undergrad; my parents sold the home after Spring Break my freshman year. I didn't get a chance to say goodbye to the only house I'd ever lived in; I didn't know when I walked out the door at the end of break that they were going to sell. But in my dreams, when I think I'm at "home", it's still that house.
Here is Muffin (named for her toasty brown color) in one of her favorite spots, a grungy old rocking chair. Will ya take a look at that shag carpet?
She also loved to sun herself in the backyard. My mom spent a lot of time gardening, and in the center of this photo, you can see the roses (Sutter's Gold, I believe) that made orange roses my favorite.
Muffin loved to look out the door. I think meerkats remind me of her in this stance. And, my gods, I grew up in the stereotypical 70s household. Wood paneling! Slipcovers! Shag carpets! You can even catch a hint of the humongous console TV off to the left . You can also see the mantel where the stockings were hung with care and glimpse the tree I used to climb.
And this picture is just to prove to Kirsten that I have legs!